The Marvelous Wings of Martin Crieffe
by Tie-dyed Trickster
Summary: Arthur's a nice enough fellow - a very special snowflake that seems to be living in a different world than everyone else, but nice. And sometimes a bit more observant than people expect. Or perhaps it just takes a very special snowflake to notice Martin's got a bit more to him than anyone else expects.


**The Marvelous Wings of Martin Crieffe**

 _Note: Not set in the same universe as my other MJN fic_

"Can I see your wings, Skip?"

Martin paused in going over the flight procedure in front of him, then refocused on it. "I don't know what you're talking about, Arthur, unless it's the gold-coloured pin which is a part of my uniform, in which case you will be able to see it quiet clearly from my lapel where you are standing."

"Oh, I don't mean that – it's great, but I was talking about your other wings, the flappy ones."

Martin gave a long-suffering sigh. "Martin, _why_ would you think I have wings, flappy or otherwise?"

Arthur blinked. "Well, because you're an angel, right? Angels _do_ have wings, don't they?" he added with a very concerned look, "Only, if they don't, then a lot of artists and people have been getting it wrong, and I don't think they'll be very happy to know – hey, are you all right, Skip? Only you've gone a funny colour."

Martin had indeed gone quite pale. Slowly and carefully he capped his pen, then set it to the side so as not to risk getting any ink on the flight procedures. Then he turned and gave his full attention to Arthur. "How on _earth_ did you figure that out?"

"Figure what out?"

"Figure wha- that I'm an _angel_ , Arthur!" Martin snapped, looking really very concerned.

"Oh, was it supposed to be a secret?" Arthur asked, blinking, "I mean, it's a little obvious – everything started going better when you showed up."

Martin snorted. "I rather think your mother would disagree with you on that one, Arthur."

The gangly steward waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, that's just because Mum looks at things in a Big Happiness sort of way, so she doesn't notice. But if you look at it in an Apple Happiness sort of way, it's really obvious. We're not losing money anywhere near as fast any more, and we've had more interesting customers, and, well, things just seem to _go_ better. Like when we went to see the polar bears, to the time you landed the plane on one engine. Those things could have gone really, really wrong, I mean _really_ wrong, but they didn't. So."

"I didn't have anything to _do_ with the polar bear incident, though, Arthur – that was all luck." Martin pointed out reasonably.

"Ah!" Arthur tapped the side of his nose, "But, if you're an angel, you don't _need_ to look like you're doing anything, you can just sit there and angel things better!"

"You mean 'miracle' things better?"

"Ah-ha! You admit it!"

"I haven't admitted anything!" Martin snapped crossly, "You're just standing there spouting wild conjecture with no actual proof!"

"What's 'conjecture' mean, Skip?"

"…it means you're guessing, Arthur. You haven't said anything that can't be explained by luck or chance or skill, or even why you think I'm an angel as opposed to a- a demon or an elf or something!"

"If you were a demon, things would have gotten worse, and you wouldn't let Mum 'n' Douglas boss you around or anything," Arthur said matter-of-factly, "Also, I saw your wings a bit that time you were changing the gaffa tape on GERTI's wings and fell off the ladder. You flailed around with them a bit, I guess so you wouldn't hit the ground so hard."

"Oh." Martin drooped a little at this. "I didn't think anyone was around to see that."

"I was!" Arthur volunteered helpfully.

"Yes, we've established that," Martin replied, a little testily.

"So you really _are_ an angel?" Arthur asked, expression delighted, and Martin sighed but also couldn't help smiling a little from the sheer level of excitement that was being directed his way.

"Yes," he admitted, "I really am."

" _Blimey_. Can I see your wings?"

"Haven't you already seen them?"

"Well, yeah, but that was from a distance and they were all moving about and it was only for a moment. Please, Skip? I won't ask to touch them or anything, but I'd _really_ like to see them, all up close and everything!" Arthur gave him a pleading look, granted extra potency by how out-of-place the expression was on his normally cheerful face. He clasped his hands together in an attitude of begging and tried to look pathetic.

Martin stared at him for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed, a subtle tension draining out of him. "All right, Arthur, I'll show you. Stay there, they're a bit- well, you'll see."

Standing, Martin went to shut the door, then came and stood in the middle of the room. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath in, then slowly let it out. Then, in the space between one moment and the next, his wings appeared on the physical plane. There were no flashes of lightning or coronas of light or fanfares of trumpets, but, then again, they really didn't need it. They were white, like snow and clouds and the moon and other beautiful things that came from the sky, and absolutely _huge_ , each longer than Martin was tall by quite a bit. Martin stood a little straighter with them on his shoulders, for once looking like a captain, as opposed to a man who simply _wanted_ to be a captain.

" _Gosh_ , Skip," Arthur breathed, eyes wide as he took them in, "They're- I mean, they're just-"

Martin smiled slightly as the younger man sorted out his tongue, waiting for the word he knew was coming, but which would be nice to hear directed at himself.

"-they're absolutely _marvelous_!"

Martin blinked, feathers rustling slightly at the unexpected descriptor, and he was fairly sure his cheeks were turning pink. "I- uh, thank-you, Arthur."

"You're welcome!" came the resolute response as Arthur continued to look at them, hands firmly behind his back. "Hey, how come you work at an airline if you're an angel? I mean, GERTI's the only way the rest of us can fly, but, you know," he nodded at the wings, "I'd think it would be a lot more fun to fly on those?"

"It's a little more complicated than that," Martin admitted, folding his wings behind him and running a hand through his hair, "Angels… help people, it's what we're meant to do. But there's rules, and one of them is that if we want to do things physically we have to, well, we have to be born human. So that we have proper bodies, you know?"

Arthur nodded vigorously. "That makes a lot of sense, actually!"

"Really?"

"Yes!"

"Oh, okay," Martin hesitated, then continued, "When we decide to come down here, it's generally for a specific purpose. But, when we're born, we forget we were ever angels."

"How do you know what you're supposed to do, then?" Arthur's expression was awash in eager curiosity. Martin grinned.

"When we encounter our purpose, we remember who we are, and what we're meant to be doing. When I met Carolyn and she offered to let me be captain, that's when I remembered myself, and why I agreed to it," his eyes were warm and he shifted his wings for the sheer pleasure of feeling the weighted movement of them on the physical plane. He was always aware of them, they were inseparably a part of him, but it was also always a joy to feel them hanging large and solid behind him. "And you're right - flying is absolutely brilliant, to use your word. I don't think I set foot on the ground for the entire free week I had before I started here."

"Wow." Apparently feeling a little bolder, Arthur walked a few steps closer to get a better look, hands still behind his back. "You know, they didn't look half so big the other day, Skip."

"I didn't need them to be so big the other day," Martin replied honestly, "This is as big as they go, but they don't exactly, you know, _need_ to go."

"That's really useful! Do all angels' wings look like this?"

"Not exactly. It's like eyes or hair or skin – everyone's a little different."

"Oh! You mean like how Douglas has blue eyes and I've got brown?"

"Exactly! But even more so – Carolyn's got brown eyes, too, but they're not the same brown as yours."

"Really? Wow!"

Arthur would have asked more, but Martin suddenly stiffened, his wings vanishing back to wherever he kept them when they weren't in use. A moment later Douglas poked his head through the door.

"Ah, there you are, Arthur. Carolyn's been looking for you. Something about roller skates, I believe it was?"

"Oh, right!" Arthur started, "I'd better get going, then! Thanks, Skip, see you, Douglas!" And he hurried off in his enthusiastic, Arthur-ish way. The captain and first officer watched him go in a rare moment of shared bemusement before said first officer turned to said captain with a raised eyebrow.

"So, what were you two talking about?"

"Oh, you know, this and that," Martin hedged. Douglas applied another eyebrow. "Oh, all right, we were talking about angels. Happy?"

Douglas gave him a skeptical look. "Angels, Martin? Is that really the best you can come up with?"

"Look, Arthur came in asking about angel wings, and I've just done my best to explain what I know about them," Martin answered a little testily, "If you have come up with an explanation for the phenomenon that is our steward, I would be delighted to hear it. Otherwise, unless you've come to help me with these flight procedures – a prospect I seriously doubt – I have work to do, seeing as I am the captain."

"Fine, fine – as the Supreme Commander desires, so shall it be done."

"No, look Douglas, I didn't mean it like that-"

"Perish the thought, sir! I'll just go back to my lowly first officer duties."

The door shut with a definitive click that only Douglas ever quite managed to achieve, and Martin allowed himself a small smile. Almost as much as Carolyn needed a cheap pilot, Douglas needed someone to feel superior to. Arthur was too easy a mark, and Carolyn was too sharp for him most of the time. But Martin Crieffe, an awkward little man who'd failed his qualifications seven times? It might rankle that Douglas had to serve as first officer to Martin, but being able to run mental rings around him went a long way to soothing the older man's wounded pride.

The smile became a grin. Of course, that was just in regards to Martin Crieffe. This wasn't his first trip to Earth and, while Martin was currently his clearest self, indeed the one he defined himself as, memories of his previous selves had come with his purpose, and he hadn't always manifested as quite such a socially awkward fellow. Annabelle du Bois, in particular, would have eaten Martin's first officer for breakfast, and sometimes it was very, very tempting to bring her to the forefront when dealing with Douglas. He persevered, though. Carolyn needed Douglas, needed his experience, cleverness, and charisma, and she wouldn't have been able to afford to pay him a proper captain's salary.

OoOoOoOoO

"Hey, Skip?"

"Yes, Arthur?"

"What kind of angel are you?" the gangly young steward plopped into a chair next to where Martin was studying GERTI's manual again. The airport was mostly empty – everyone was off at Douglas's new pub, leaving Martin blissfully free to feign ignorance and get some work done. Now, though, after a quick scan of the area with senses that were both human and less so, Martin turned to Arthur, relaxing a bit as he did so.

"I'm a guardian angel. That's why my wings are so big – so I can protect myself and whoever I'm keeping safe."

"Oh. Really tough are they, then?"

"Extremely."

"That's funny – they didn't look very tough."

"That's because things don't always look like what they are. I mean, I don't exactly _look_ angelic, do I?"

"You really don't. Er, sorry, Skip."

"Don't worry about it."

"Okay. So, are there lots of angels wandering around?"

Martin shrugged. "There's a fair number of us."

"How can you tell?"

"I can see their wings."

"Really?" Arthur looked stunned. "What, even when they're hidden, like you've got yours?"

"Yes."

Arthur beamed. "That's _brilliant_! And do you all get together and have secret guardian angel meetings to compare notes and stuff?"

Martin chuckled. "No, there aren't _that_ many of us. Mostly, if we see each other, it's just in passing. And if we do talk, it's generally about our human lives – we can talk shop when the job's over, you know? Besides, it's not just _guardian_ angels wandering around."

"Wow!" Arthur managed to look even more excited somehow. "What other kinds are there?"

"All sorts – healers, joy-bringers, warriors, life-changers…" Martin shrugged and Arthur frowned, puzzled.

"I think I get the others, but what do 'life-changers' do?"

"You ever hear of someone meeting some random person, and that person does or says some little thing, but it completely changes the first person's life?"

Arthur nodded.

"Sometimes the random person is, in fact, a much less random angel."

"Wow!" Arthur bounced in his seat and Martin gave him a bemused look.

"You know, I'm surprised you haven't told anyone about all this – you're usually terrible with secrets."

"Oh, I know!" Arthur replied, "That's why I didn't even bother trying to keep this one."

GERTI's flight manual slipped from suddenly numb fingers. "You what?"

"Oh yeah," Arthur said happily, "I told Mum as soon as I saw her, and she told me to stop talking rubbish and to remember that the in-flight movies aren't really real, no matter what Douglas says. So now it's not a secret and I don't have to worry about keeping it. Pretty clever, eh, Skip?"

Martin stared at the beaming face before him. "I- yes, Arthur. That was… surprisingly clever."

"Thanks! Say, Skip, how come you're always asking Mum for a pay raise if you're an angel? I'd have thought angels wouldn't need money."

"We do when we're being human."

"I guess that makes sense. But- couldn't you just miracle your way into surviving?"

Martin sighed. "Arthur, this _is_ me miracling my way along. The thing is, I can't just do that sort of thing all day, there's rules. And it's better if I sustain myself by as human means as possible, because that way I have more miracles to use for _real_ emergencies." Like the time Douglas had contracted Spanish measles and been convinced it was some food allergy or other. What with turning it into a very mild case of flu and ensuring no one else got sick, Martin had been a very busy boy for a few days.

"Do you use a lot of miracles around MJN?" Arthur asked, pulling Martin back into the present again.

The small captain gave a rueful snort. "Let's just say, I'm not sure GERTI would be able to get up without me on board anymore."

"Gosh."

OoOoOoOoO

A few days after that, Arthur popped by just as Martin was about to head home and handed him a jar.

"It's marmalade!" the young man announced happily when Martin inquired, "Don't worry, I didn't make it!"

The thought hadn't actually crossed Martin's mind, seeing as there was a label on the jar, and an unbroken seal, but it was still good to hear. "Um, thanks. What's the occasion?"

"Well, I was thinking about it, and you do a lot for us," Arthur explained enthusiastically, "And you said you mostly live on bread and pasta so, I thought, maybe, it'd be nice if you had something to spread on them? And oranges are really good for you, Mum says, only they don't keep and they don't spread very well. So, marmalade! Plus, it's orange – like, as really _nice_ orange!"

"Thank-you, Arthur," Martin repeated, touched and impressed that the flighty steward had remembered all this and actually come up with a viable solution. "But, um, if you don't mind me asking, why is it being orange important?"

"I dunno," Arthur grinned and scratched his neck, "I just think food looks happier when it's orange. That's why I invented my Orange Platter, you know!"

"Oh, well, thank-you again," Martin carefully tucked the jar in his flight bag, "I'll be sure to enjoy it."

Arthur beamed, then scurried off when Carolyn shouted for him and Martin watched him go with a warm smile. The man was dim as a post, but such a bright, happy person, who saw a world so full of wonderful, brilliant things that he couldn't help wanting to share them with everyone else.

Chuckling to himself, Martin watched the steward interacting with his mother – or, more specifically, the steward's back, where a pair of slightly misty, as-yet unremembered wings hung and moved with surprising elegance. It was going to be an interesting day indeed when the younger angel discovered his purpose and came into himself. Martin gave the wings a last glance before heading out the door, laughing again, enjoying being in on the joke for once because when it came to the colour of Arthur's wings, there was only one way to describe them:

A _brilliant_ scarlet.

OoOoOoOoO

 _I wrote this shortly after I wrote my other MJN angel!Martin fic. I'd finished it, and I started wondering… what would it be like if Martin knew he was an angel all the time? Plus, I love playing with concepts like this – spinning them around, looking at them from different angles. It's a rare fandom where I have just one version of it sitting in my mind. Plus, I really like playing with Arthur – he's got such a unique perspective on the world, and it's easy to imagine that he might actually notice more than anyone realizes, including himself. Also, he's generally shown in a red shirt in photos or art, hence the wing colour._

 _And secretly-competent!Martin is my favorite._


End file.
